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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244703">a kiss with a fist is better than none</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara'>Odaigahara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>discord, i'm howling at the moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:01:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Asking for a hug or something equally pathetic might work once, if he went straight to Patton, but as soon as he realized there’d have to be repeat performances- it’d be cruel, was all. Virgil couldn’t ask him.</p><p>Obviously asking Logan and Roman was out, too, and Thomas wasn’t even an option.</p><p>That left the usual strategy, with one clear target: </p><p>Princey would love the chance to hit the villain where it hurt.</p><p>*</p><p>Or: Virgil brings a questionable coping mechanism with him from the Dark Side.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>discord, i'm howling at the moon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>TSS Fanworks Collective</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a kiss with a fist is better than none</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/gifts">alicat54c</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on a prompt by alicat54c, who was also nice enough to beta!</p><p>TW at end of chapter.</p><p>(Special thanks to the Discord!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two weeks after his acceptance, Virgil found he couldn’t sleep. The too-familiar feeling rolled low in his gut, prickling him awake with a cold tension in his breastbone, dread and longing intermixed. It held him stretched, suspended in its grasp.</p><p>Loneliness, so heavy it felt like being crushed in the Marianas Trench, pressed in by darkness at all sides-- and behind it chilly-hot nerves, making his head and chest hurt, urging him to tense his muscles and bunch up like a pillbug into a smaller target.</p><p><em> You’ll never be one of them, </em> the feeling crooned. <em> Never loved, never liked, barely even tolerated on a good day, and you’ve lost all your friends, haven’t you? No more Janus, no more Remus. When they realize what you are, you won’t have anywhere to go. </em></p><p>The shadows on the ceiling warped, burning spots into his eyes. Virgil’s heart was a hammer on his ribcage. His mouth felt like a desert. Three in the morning was the witching hour- or the devil’s hour, he never remembered which- but more than that it magnified things, made his worst thoughts into firecrackers, turned up the volume so he couldn’t tune them out.</p><p>His breathing was loud in his ears. <em> You make us better </em>. Princey had said he made them better. Roman wasn’t Janus, lies weren’t his weapon of choice, but did that mean anything? Couldn’t he have convinced himself Virgil was worth something in that moment, pushed by the dark under his eyes to say whatever made the pain stop?</p><p>Virgil had dragged them out there with his selfishness. He’d made them enter the belly of the beast to talk to him. They would have said anything with all that fear clogging up their heads. They wouldn’t even have known they were doing it.</p><p>Any moment now his family would see what had influenced their decisions. Any day now Logan would run an analysis, or Patton would search his heart, or Roman would remember how sorcerers always ensnared people in storybooks, and that would be it. Virgil would be out of luck, stuck between a rock and a hard place with bridges on fire behind him.</p><p>Rock: Try to be accepted anyway, convince them he can be more than the monster under Thomas’s bed.</p><p>Hard place: Go back to spooking Thomas, to safety in vicious obscurity, and pretend he never told them his name at all.</p><p>Except now he wouldn’t have anyone to fall back to, when everything got to be too much. Janus wouldn’t want him, not after he ducked out and endangered Thomas and had to be coaxed back like a runaway pet. Not after he told him to his face that he thought lying was wrong- that it hurt Thomas, that Virgil had to protect him and if that meant leaving them both, leaving them <em> all- </em></p><p>He was glad Wrath hadn’t been there, at least. It was a queasy relief, because he shouldn’t have been happy that a Side he’d grown up with hadn’t bothered to stick around while he argued his way to irrevocable hatred, but Virgil couldn’t control his feelings; he knew that much by now.</p><p>If Wrath had been there, he might’ve taken a swing at Virgil. Janus might not have stopped him, and he doubted Remus would’ve even cared. Wrath might have snarled, red-faced and horribly strong, and pinned Virgil by his neck to the wall. And Virgil would’ve been fucking terrified, because what if this was the time he went too far and did something that wouldn’t heal, but there would also have been that flush of contact, those fingers on his pulse and another body close to his, even if a second later it exploded into pain.</p><p>Wrath might have kicked him while he was down. He might have kept his foot on Virgil’s chest, applying enough pressure to hurt, fierce and contemptuous and always, always disgusted. He thought Virgil was pathetic. He’d always thought that, even though Janus got mad if he went on about it too long and Remus started making fun of it, mimicking him in monstrous voices and offering to jack him off to see if it calmed him down.</p><p>Wrath might have done those things. Or Remus might have gotten mad and tackled him, holding him down with arms and various limbs, so oppressively close Virgil couldn’t control the terrifying thoughts entering his brain. Or Janus might have finally gotten sick of his shit and slapped him across the face, might have done more for once than push him up against a wall to whisper threats and ultimatums he didn’t even uphold later.</p><p>Virgil shivered, missing that familiar weight the most, and hugged his blanket closer. Janus used to hiss into his face, breath so close he could feel it on his skin. He used to shove him in the hallways, never enough to hurt but enough that Virgil could feel it. He’d press their whole bodies together, crowd him when he was lonely and pitifully anxious, too depressing to talk to normally.</p><p>Once he’d even hugged Virgil, like Remus did but not as terrifying, and had looked at him like he couldn’t stand him, like just the sight of him had hurt- but Virgil had snapped and shoved him away, even as his brain screamed for more, and Janus hadn’t tried again.</p><p>Virgil <em> couldn’t </em> have accepted it, not with that look in Janus’s eyes. Like it was an obligation, and Virgil’s brief desperate attempt at burrowing into his arms had ruined all his hopes. Like it hurt even standing near him. Like it <em> devastated </em>him. </p><p>There was never any use asking Remus for a hug, not when he was so unpredictable, and Virgil could only imagine what would’ve happened if he’d asked Wrath.</p><p>Broken bones, probably. Those happened a lot when they were alone together, and it was never Wrath licking his wounds after. Half the time, Virgil wasn’t even trying to antagonize him.</p><p>He sucked in a breath and cuddled his blanket closer, hating himself for the weakness. He was impossible to be around. He knew he was depressing and aggravating and made everyone nervous with his mere fucking presence- he was Anxiety, for fuck’s sake. </p><p>Wrath never hit Janus the way he hit Virgil when no one was around. He <em> did </em> go after Remus sometimes, but Remus got hard-ons from it and counterattacked at unexpected times, so it made sense that he wouldn’t keep doing it- and anyway Remus wasn’t exactly the life of the party, either.</p><p>The death of the party, maybe, depending on how bloodthirsty he was feeling that day. The knife of the party. </p><p>Virgil wished he could share that pun with Janus- it was too dark for Patton, he never liked being reminded that Remus existed- and bit his cheek bloody to drive the thought away. It didn’t make his chest any warmer.</p><p>This was bad, Virgil admitted to himself. The only way he had to fix it was probably worse, but-</p><p>It affected Thomas when he got this worked up. Even Virgil could have mercy sometimes, and right now, after Thomas had accepted him, while Thomas didn’t have any pressing deadlines- well, he could lay off a little, was what he was saying. His personal issues didn’t have to butt into it.</p><p>Asking for a hug or something equally pathetic might work once, if he went straight to Patton, but as soon as he realized there’d have to be repeat performances- it’d be cruel. Patton would feel obligated to cuddle up to this cold, creepy dude who insulted people when he was embarrassed, which was <em> always </em>, and maybe it’d remind him of the others, the ones he didn’t want affecting Thomas so much, and- it would just be a bad idea. Virgil couldn’t ask him.</p><p>Obviously Logan and Roman were out, too, and Thomas wasn’t even an option.</p><p>That left the usual strategy, with one clear target.</p><p>Princey would love the chance to hit the villain where it hurt, especially when Patton wasn’t around to be disappointed. He was all about those cringe compilations of his enemies’ deaths, at least in theory. It’d be fun for him to have a free, snarky punching bag. Virgil could even think of it as doing him a favor.</p><p>Right. He was doing it after all. Virgil curled up under his covers, mind made up, and tried in vain to sleep.</p><p>*</p><p>He set his plan in motion the next morning. Calling it a plan was a long shot, though- he wasn’t Logan or Janus, no one depended on him to make elaborate strategies to get what they wanted. It was more of a crapshoot, steadily escalating bullshit until Roman snapped or Virgil’s nose did. Never worked with Janus, because he could sense lies and scheming like he had a radar for it, and Remus liked any attention no matter how negative, but it always worked with Wrath.</p><p>Sit in his path. Mess with his stuff. Make himself a burr, an irritant, something to scrape off and stomp away from- not enough of a threat to want dead but enough of an annoyance that beating him up was fun. Make it so injury for insults felt justified.</p><p>Make it so there weren’t any witnesses, so no one stepped in to say <em> enough </em>.</p><p>Roman was the obvious choice. He got upset over the tiniest things, he was a diva who needed the right kind of attention at all times, he hated Virgil and liked fighting villains, hurting the ones who deserved it- </p><p>Virgil would’ve called it the easiest thing in the world, if he’d wanted to jinx his chances.</p><p>“Hey, Princey,” Virgil drawled as soon as he was downstairs, Roman at the table and Patton in the kitchen, Logan nowhere in sight. He ruffled his hair as he went past, casual disrespect that set his hand to tingling, and Roman startled and glared at him.</p><p>“Excuse me, Dreadward Scissorhands, but what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>“Eating breakfast.” Virgil gave him an innocent look and poured the rest of the Froot Loops in his bowl, nearly overflowing. “You weren’t gonna eat these, were you?”</p><p>Roman was already reddening. “I’m the one who put them on the table!”</p><p>“Thanks, that was real considerate of you,” Virgil said with a smirk. He didn’t even put in milk, to add insult to injury; instead he licked his fingers and started picking at the loops one by one, drawing out the agony. Roman stared, indignant and aghast. Virgil made eye contact and shoved a handful of colorful donuts into his mouth. “So are you just gonna stare at me or what? I thought you wanted breakfast.”</p><p>“I did! I did want that!” Roman glared at him again and shoved himself up from his chair, going to the pantry and throwing a bagel down with force. Virgil blinked, almost wanting to laugh, as he ate it in three great bites and snapped, “How did you sleep?”</p><p>Damn it, Princey, don’t be <em> considerate </em>. “Eh. I didn’t,” Virgil said, awkwardly guilty, and Patton poked his head out from the kitchen.</p><p>“Do you kiddos want blueberry muffins?”</p><p>“Can you make blueberry muffins without Specs there to supervise?” Roman asked, nose wrinkling. “After what happened last month-”</p><p>“I only have to add milk and eggs,” Patton assured him. “Good morning, Virgil!”</p><p>“Morning, Popstar,” Virgil said, lips quirking. Patton perked up like a flower in the sun.</p><p>“Careful not to let this Smart Spookie near the ingredients,” Roman said. “He might eat the eggs raw, like how he eats cereal.”</p><p>“You can’t eat cereal raw,” Virgil argued. “It’s not cooked. You don’t cook it.”</p><p>“You have to add milk or milk substitutes,” Roman argued. “It’s a rule! Practically a commandment, like eating popcorn and M&amp;Ms while rewatching <em> The Lion King </em>.”</p><p>“That’s just what Thomas does,” Virgil said, confused, and at Roman’s look capitulated. “Okay, yeah.” What else would you even eat at a movie theatre when it re-released <em> The Lion King? </em> Churros? <em> Please</em>. Churros were clearly a horror movie snack.</p><p>... Yeah, okay, Virgil was more tired than he’d thought.</p><p>The rest of the day, Virgil played all the usual tricks. He bumped Roman in doorways, tripped him in the hallway, took his sketchbook out of his hands to flip through it and made stupid, biting comments- the kind of things that would’ve set Wrath on him like a bull seeing red, made him want to <em> make </em> Virgil sorry.</p><p>It was all bullshit- obvious bullshit, things like <em> right, ‘cause you’re good at drawing </em> and <em> don’t be a moron, Princey </em> with more venom than usual- and purposefully disrespectful, prodding at boundaries to see which ones Princey defended first.</p><p>Roman loved his work, was <em> great </em> at it despite whatever Virgil spouted, and Patton and Thomas made sure he knew it. Roman still didn’t get along with Virgil, whatever he’d told him after he’d tried ducking out, so Virgil was pretty sure he wouldn’t take the insults hard because he cared about Virgil’s opinion, either.</p><p>That left getting mad because Virgil was being a dick and asking to get knocked down for it, which was just what Virgil wanted.</p><p>Really. It <em> was </em>. </p><p>He was starting to feel the flipside of the get-punched-for-human-contact coin, never mind that it was all Virgil deserved. His chest was getting tight, adrenaline shifting gears to make him jump at every shadow, nerves bouncing in his chest and scratching at his lungs, stifling his breath. He kept having stupid little thoughts about what exactly Roman would do when he snapped- fear of the unknown, mostly, because Virgil had no way to predict the details.</p><p>Wrath didn’t have a sword. Wrath was strong, but he wasn’t Remus-strong, and Roman almost definitely was. Wrath liked hitting with his fists and feet, feeling Virgil’s bones crack under his blows. He liked when Virgil screamed, taken by surprise by something hurting worse than he’d expected. He was satisfied with Virgil back in his place, usually beaten too badly to stand, and after that he’d leave him alone.</p><p>Princey, though. Princey liked <em> killing </em> his enemies, and Virgil wasn’t sure how stoked he was about getting his hands dirty. For all he knew, Roman would just drive a sword through his shoulder and leave him pinned and screaming to learn his lesson, too annoyed or disgusted to stick around. He might kill him outright.</p><p>Those were reasonable fears. What wasn’t reasonable-- what was stupid, had been stupid with Wrath, too-- was how Virgil felt when he thought about Roman doing exactly what he wanted.</p><p>Roman punching him. Roman kicking him while he was down, shoving him against the wall so hard his sight blacked out, deliberately breaking ribs or leaving bone-deep bruises that left Virgil in bed for days. Roman glaring and hateful, so contemptuous he wouldn’t bother spending any more time on Virgil than necessary.</p><p>It’d be better if Virgil could just get him to pin him to the wall and threaten, but he got the feeling that was too villainous for Princey’s style. He’d want an outright fight, and since Virgil didn’t think he’d be able to hurt him for real, that left a one-sided battle. At most Virgil would take more than one swing, for plausible deniability purposes, and even then it’d be so Princey could say he’d started it. </p><p>He shouldn’t have been shaking. He shouldn’t have been on the verge of a panic attack, bizarrely wishing for Janus to be in the same room, or at least Logan and Patton so Princey wouldn’t come after him quite yet. He was being a moron, obstructing himself like he obstructed the other Sides, and the irony was so potent he could weep. </p><p>Three days of low-grade needling, each night spent more and more strung out and desperate in his room, trying to convince himself that he’d be okay, he just had to do what he always did and he’d be fine-</p><p>And Roman cornered him in the hallway between their rooms, far enough away from the rest of the mind palace that Patton and Logan wouldn’t hear. Virgil’s heart leaped into his throat; whether it was fear or anticipation or a hideous mixture of both, he couldn’t tell.</p><p>“Princey,” he managed, sick hopeful terror stabbing him from the inside. “Something you want?”</p><p>“Yes,” Roman bit out, “actually. There is.” His hair was almost mussed, eyes red around the edges. There were smudges of paint on his hands.</p><p>Virgil’s eyes caught on those hands, mind running away with <em>how hard can he throw a punch,</em> <em>what if he breaks my jaw that alway hurts- </em> “Spit it out already,” he snapped, praying he’d push Princey over the edge, make him finally snap, end this moronic fucking dread already. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I actually have things to do tod-”</p><p>“Why are you mad at me?” Roman demanded, and Virgil’s thoughts ground to a halt.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Roman’s expression broke, and he ran his fingers through his hair, sheer creative strength coming off him in waves. It was frenetic, Virgil realized distantly, nervous and scattered, groping for things to create so Roman didn’t have to think. It occurred to him that he’d gone about this in the worst possible way. </p><p>“You’re upset with me,” Princey said, like it was a certainty, like it was <em> his fault </em>. “You’ve been- acting different, being mean about things, and I understand if you still don’t want to be friends after, after everything, but I-” His voice cracked. Virgil was cold with horror. “If there’s something else I can do, something that’s been bothering you-”</p><p>“It’s not you,” Virgil blurted, because if he heard one more word of how badly he fucked up he might combust then and there. “It’s- I’ve just been being an asshole. It’s my problem, not yours, I didn’t- it’s nothing to do with you. I’m taking out my problems on other people like a dick.”</p><p>Roman’s eyes were wet. Virgil drowned in guilt. “O-oh.” He swallowed visibly. “So you’ve- all those insults?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean them,” Virgil said, drawing in. “Sorry.” <em> I didn’t think you’d react like this, </em> he wanted to say, but that wasn’t an excuse. That was just another mistake.</p><p>Roman’s heartbroken expression slowly morphed to anger. Virgil braced. “So, what, exactly? You just decided to pick a target? This whole time I’ve been thinking I’d done something horrible and hadn’t noticed, like I’d been treating you badly all over again, and you were just having fun?” His voice went shrill. “I can’t believe this.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Virgil mumbled, shame burning in his eyes. “I figured you wouldn’t. Sorry about that.” He edged away from Roman, half-expecting him to grab him after all, but of course Virgil couldn’t have even that. What was the last bit of apology you were always supposed to say? “Won’t, uh. Won’t happen again.”</p><p>He got out of range. Roman stared after him, fists clenched and face red, and Virgil fled.</p><p>*</p><p>Virgil couldn’t stay in his room. He tried for a few hours, but the ache was unbearable, driving his anxiety up and up until his mind was a fucking centrifuge, splattering all his thoughts on the walls. Guilt clung to his chest like a sleep paralysis demon. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so bad, and Roman would never forgive him and neither would anyone else and why <em> should </em> they? He’d bullied Roman to get what was basically his fix. He’d been too much of a coward to be told <em> no </em> when he asked for a hug, so he’d taken the easy way out and gotten rightfully burned for it.</p><p>The Light Sides would be justified in throwing him back to the Dark. They were probably discussing it at that moment, if they wouldn’t be soon, and even if they decided not to for some reason, they’d never touch him <em> now- </em></p><p>His eyes prickled, breath going fast. He was- he didn’t have words for how stupid this whole thing had been. He didn’t deserve contact after this. He barely deserved to exist.</p><p>But his room was cold and he was alone, and the need stole over him like a drug, making him hurt for the next hit. When was the last time someone had touched him? Three weeks ago, when he’d argued with Janus and he’d decided to duck out for real, unable to stomach the thought of hurting Thomas any longer? That had been a brush against his shoulder, Janus leaving the room when he couldn’t handle the conversation anymore.</p><p>Yeah. Three weeks ago. Virgil hugged his knees and counted his breathing, told himself it was enough.</p><p>Three weeks. He could go a month, right? A month, and if the Light Sides still wanted him around, he’d ask Patton for a hug. Maybe he could get one before they cut him off completely. </p><p>He’d have to savor it.</p><p>Arms around his shoulders, like the time Janus had hugged him and regretted it. The smell of sugar and baby powder and laundry detergent, scents Thomas associated with parenthood. Patton saying he loved him and forgave him and he could do him this favor just this once, of course he could. Patton could take pity. Virgil could have one hug.</p><p>Talk about going soft. He was daydreaming about <em> hugs </em> now. Next he’d be wondering if Patton would bake cookies with him or Roman would flop over him like an extravagant pet rabbit or Logan would decide to test touching him as an experiment, come by every few hours to squeeze his shoulder or run a hand through his hair-</p><p>Wait, no. Fuck.</p><p>Virgil rolled out of bed and hugged himself again, rubbing his arms like it’d give him any warmth. He had to do something. If he didn’t take care of the issue now, he might start acting worse, and then no one would accept him. He shouldn’t even have tried with Roman, that had been such a <em> dick move- </em></p><p>But there was one person who could be relied on not to get hurt by what Virgil said. One person who’d never liked him, who’d love another chance to beat the shit out of him, who might at least help the hollow pain under his breastbone go away.</p><p>He shuddered in another breath, eyes burning, and told himself he might as well.</p><p>Sneaking into the Dark Side wasn’t hard to do. Janus hadn’t blocked him out, even though he’d left; Virgil slipped downstairs like putting on an old outfit or going into the wrong apartment by muscle memory, a key fitting neatly into a lock.</p><p>No snake eyes peering out of the dark, though, or blood-drenched Roman impersonators tackling him out of nowhere. Virgil ached for it for a long, paralyzing moment, wishing Remus would intercept him, take time to freak him out as long as they were touching in the process, but Remus would definitely be pissed that he’d left. No help from that quarter.</p><p>He swallowed, resisting the urge to melt back into the shadows where he’d be safe, and went into the depths of the Dark Side. There were a lot of badly-lit hallways, a labyrinth of almost-Subconscious that writhed into new arrangements every couple hours. Nothing at all like the Light Side’s orderly extensions, melting into sheer Imagination if he walked far enough; here, getting lost would mean getting <em> lost </em>, possibly permanently. He doubted Janus would be kind enough to fish him out if he were dumb enough to screw up now-- and that was assuming the Light Sides even knew what to tell him if Virgil disappeared.</p><p>Another bad decision to add to the list. Virgil wandered, ears straining for signs of Wrath, and found himself in a ravaged copy of the living room.</p><p>The painting was on the floor, endless beige splattered red-brown-pink like someone had gotten their brains blown out. That was the work of Remus, obviously, but the torn-up painting wasn’t. <em> That </em> had been a fit of rage.</p><p>He was pretty confident it wasn’t guesswork this time, considering how Wrath was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. </p><p>“So did you fuck something up or what?” he asked, trying not to let his voice shake. “I mean, it’s pretty rare to see you thinking at all. I’m kinda curious about the change.”</p><p>Wrath was up and moving before he could dodge. Virgil blacked out and opened his eyes to the other Side snarling in his face, hand fisted in his collar as he pinned him to the wall. “You fucking <em> traitor </em>. You’re seriously back after all that?”</p><p>“Aw.” Virgil smirked, heart rabbit-fast in his chest. Wrath was mad, he was <em> so mad </em> and Virgil had never felt him like this, radiating violent intent like a bonfire- “Did you miss me?”</p><p>Wrath punched him. Virgil’s vision went staticky-red, pain bursting like pop rocks in his brain, and he gasped. The wound stung, but as the pain faded it left a warmth behind, a pulsing heat reverberating under his skin. “In your messed-up dreams,” Wrath said, face flushing red. “Why the fuck are you here?”</p><p>“Left some stuff in the commons,” Virgil said, because <em> I’m here to get beat up </em> was probably the dumbest thing he could possibly say.</p><p>“You think you’ve still got a right to it?”</p><p>“It’s <em> my stuff,” </em> Virgil snapped, and Wrath didn’t pull the next punch at all. He let go of Virgil and backhanded him, sending him to the ground, and he couldn’t even get up before there was a foot in his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. Virgil gasped and tried to curl over it, but the next kick hit the side of his head and he was dazed again, cringing, out for the count. </p><p>Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten out of the habit of fighting back. He’d used to, when Thomas was a teen and his hormones had run wild, but Wrath wasn’t completely reckless: if Virgil had unloaded on him, really gone after him one time too many, getting into fights would’ve been a lot harder. </p><p>He would have been left with nothing, no way to get touch at all.</p><p>Virgil <em> could </em> fight, though. He sensed he could fight, sensed the fears bubbling under the other Side’s omnipresent rage- all he had to do was snarl and make himself bigger and <em> go after him, </em>straight for the jugular, hurt him so bad he never stayed in the same room with Virgil again. That was what Janus had done back when Thomas was young, though Virgil had never learned the details. Wrath had never touched him again. </p><p>Another blow, calculated to break ribs, and Virgil tried to scream but didn’t have the breath for it, could barely scrape himself up and put his back against the wall. It was a hindbrain instinct, <em> protect the weak points, </em>but of course it didn’t help with this. Wrath just yanked him to his feet, grip so hard it was bound to leave bruises, and wrapped hot fingers around Virgil’s neck.</p><p>“You don’t belong here, Anxiety,” he breathed. “Deceit can’t protect you anymore. Know what that means?” He smiled, humorless, and Virgil whined past the pressure on his throat. “It means I can do whatever the fuck I want here. And I’ve been waiting to do this for a long <em> fucking </em> time.”</p><p>Wrath’s grip tightened, crushing Virgil’s windpipe, and the levees broke. </p><p>Suddenly there was only terror, every part of Virgil screaming <em> fight back get away break </em> <b> <em>away</em> </b>, but Wrath’s fingers were already cutting off his voice; he was past the point of no return. </p><p>Virgil kicked, trying to dislodge the weight against him, thrashed and tried to shriek, but it was pointless. Spots danced in his vision, lungs screaming for air, and his struggles petered out into fuzzy distant numbness. No take-backs. He wanted this, what was he even doing whining about something going <em> right- </em></p><p>Wrath’s grip loosened. Virgil sank his teeth into the other Side’s arm and went for his eyes, making him reel back with a shout, and then he was staggering, running, trying to get away-</p><p>“You fucking freak!” Wrath screamed, and something took Virgil’s legs out from under him with a sickening <em> crack.  </em></p><p>Virgil screamed. His leg was folded under him, burning with a hurt so intense it felt like being struck by lightning, and he was, he couldn’t- “Stop, stop <em> please I’m sorry-” </em></p><p>Wrath grabbed his arm and pulled him up, one leg catching but the other buckling, refusing to hold Virgil’s weight. “Little late for that,” he snarled, and Virgil snarled back, sobbing and maddened with pain, thoughts shrill like a rat in a trap. </p><p>He couldn’t sink out, couldn’t drum up the focus for it, but when Wrath found the break and <em> stomped </em>Virgil was already moving, already jerking to make it a glancing blow. The agony sparked through him, making him scream again, but the shadows were jerking around them, too, coming alive at Virgil’s desperation. Wrath lost his grip. </p><p>Virgil lost track of things as soon as he hit the ground. The impact juddered through the break like an earthquake, overwhelmingly painful, but at least he’d managed to do one thing right: Wrath had fled once the shadows darkened, leaving Virgil alone in the warped reflection of Thomas’s living room. </p><p>Turned out he remembered their old fights, too. </p><p>Great. Fantastic. Virgil couldn’t breathe through his tears. </p><p>He sobbed, choking them down as quiet as he could, and for a long time he just stared at the ground, barely holding himself up on his elbows and trying not to think about anything. </p><p>His face felt hot with forming bruises, body shrieking in agony, but he couldn’t even enjoy the semblance of touch, how it had felt to make contact with someone else’s skin. His leg was broken. Wrath had broken his actual fucking leg. </p><p>That had never happened before. Arms, sure, or fingers- Virgil’s nose, more than once, or his collarbone, though his ribs were a particular target- but Wrath had never made it so he couldn’t walk away after a while. That was something new.</p><p>Virgil steeled himself, closing his eyes to stifle his tears, and pulled himself over, letting his good leg stretch out in front of him. His breath hitched when he reached down to his folded leg, praying he wouldn’t jostle it or make it worse. </p><p><em> Please don’t be bone. </em>He didn’t know how he’d make it out if it was bone, and he was already trespassing. Virgil wasn’t welcome in the Dark Side, not anymore. He couldn’t afford to stay. </p><p>His fingers traced their way down his leg, Virgil hissing through his teeth at the raw pain, but he couldn’t find anything sticking out of the skin. There was a part of his shin where the lightest pressure sent spots through his eyes, made him wince away and whimper; that was the break, still under the muscle. He thought he’d felt the bone grind the second time he fell. </p><p>Panic fluttered behind his breastbone. He didn’t want to try standing. He wanted to lie here and shiver, breathing fast to dull the pain, until he passed out. He wanted Janus, or Logan or Patton or even Remus, he didn’t care at this point. He wanted Roman, too, guiltily, but that was more than out of the question. </p><p>Virgil had to stand up. He stifled a sob and reached for the torn-up couch, groping along for a good handhold, then slowly levered himself to his feet. For a moment it almost seemed like it would work, his bruised leg taking his weight, and then he tried to go upright and put the bare minimum of pressure on the broken leg.</p><p>His vision flared white. He collapsed, gasping and crying, and took a few minutes to gain back coherence. </p><p>God. He’d really fucked up this time. And if the Light Sides looked for him- probably they wouldn’t, but if they did- they’d find him on the Dark Side like a coward or a spy, someone to be <em> reviled- </em> and if Remus found him who <em> knew </em> what would happen, and if Wrath- if Wrath came back-</p><p>Virgil didn’t remember passing out, but it had to have happened at some point, because when he woke up again Thomas was seeing daylight. Morning, after a night of scattered, panicked dreams. </p><p>Virgil braced for the summons, but it never came. </p><p>Good. He wasn’t needed yet. He could lie here, in the depths of the Dark Side’s hall of mirrors, and wait for the pain to recede. He could wait to die, maybe, and see if he came back. </p><p>The prospect sent a dagger of terror through him, but the pain drowned it out like a screaming crowd. Each breath brought fresh discomfort, lungs poking into splintered ribs. There were tear tracks on his face. His eyelashes were gummy with them. </p><p>At some point he thought he felt footsteps, but no one spoke or touched him, not even to make the injuries worse. He let them slip from his mind.</p><p>*</p><p>A voice. </p><p>Virgil’s heart skipped a beat. He pulled himself half-upright, terribly aware of his legs out in front of him, exposed and easy targets, and flinched up his arms when he recognized who it was. </p><p>Wrath stood over him, eyes dark and flashing, fingers wrapped around the handle of a baseball bat. Virgil hissed, rolling low into a snarl, but they both knew it was a futile gesture; he couldn’t have hurt Wrath if he wanted to, not in this condition. He could barely focus enough to realize there <em> was </em>a threat. </p><p>“You’re still here,” said the other Side, low and dangerous. “I thought I told you to get out.” </p><p>He came closer, and Virgil bared his teeth, tried to pull in his leg. His back was to the couch. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scrape up the ability to sink out, and he’d never seen Wrath so intent. </p><p>Instinct screamed at him to freeze so the predator might pass him over. Virgil shivered, staring up at Wrath and finding his throat closed up, voice gone running without him. <em>Hide hide run hide </em><b><em>bite</em></b>, his mind cried, but he couldn’t do any of those things. Wrath was staying out of range. </p><p>He could hit Virgil, but Virgil really <em>couldn’t </em>hit back. “Didn’t I make it clear to you?” Wrath demanded, like he expected a response. “You’re a traitor. A turncoat. A fucking <em>coward. </em>But Deceit lets <em>you</em> out to Thomas? Skittery little Anxiety, of all Sides?” He gave an ugly grin. “I’ll be honest, <em>Virgil. </em>I only let him do it ‘cause I thought it’d be funny to see them fuck you up for a change.”</p><p>Virgil found his voice and rasped, “Are you seriously monologuing right now?” Wrath snarled, almost a roar, and he flinched, but- not like he was going anywhere anyway. There was no escape for him. “You don’t <em> let </em> Janus do anything. He represses you, and decided <em> not </em>to repress me.” He bared his teeth in a sneer. “It’s not my fault you still can’t make a case for yourself.”</p><p>Wrath stalked closer, looming over him; Virgil looked up, paling at the thought of baring his neck, and tried not to cower too visibly. This was going to hurt <em> so much. </em>“Mouthy as always, huh.” Wrath shifted the bat in his grip. “If you won’t leave on your own, I guess I’ll have to make you.”</p><p>“My leg’s broken, you dick,” Virgil snapped, heart in his throat. “I <em> can’t </em>leave.” His voice broke at that, useless and humiliating; Wrath grinned. </p><p>“Aw, Virgil,” he said, eyes glinting with anticipation, “why the fuck would I care?”</p><p>He brought the bat down on his leg, and Virgil screamed. The pain was blinding, crashing through him like a drill through the bone, and he kept screaming, couldn’t think to stop or even beg.</p><p>Another flash of movement. Virgil contorted, trying to shield his leg and head at the same time, arms coming up to block his face-</p><p>Nothing. Virgil forced his eyes open, twitchy fear telling him he was missing something worse and if he saw it he could brace for it- but Wrath wasn’t moving. He was pale and staring, shaking with rage and something like apprehension, and Virgil had no clue why. </p><p>Then there was movement from his blind spot, impossible white stepping forward, and Roman snarled, “I think that’s <em> quite </em>enough.”</p><p>“Creativity,” Wrath gritted out. “Great. The traitor’s got a friend.”</p><p>“Oh, certainly,” Roman said, and the room was dark but he gave off his own light, a dim spotlight with a single gleaming focus. His katana reflected it like the arc of a crescent moon. “A very vengeful friend, even! A friend who might want justice, and to protect a loved one from being brutalized by a villain from an anti-drug campaign. A friend who might <em> love </em>to smite said villain with his lovely, shiny sword.”</p><p>What? Virgil’s terror went up a notch, struck through with panicked Self-Preservation. If Roman was hurt, if Wrath beat <em> him </em>and he couldn’t get away- “Princey, I’m fine,” he insisted, hating the rasp in his voice. “It’s not- it’s no big deal.”</p><p>He couldn’t breathe. Roman was his own star, a figure cut from moonlight and dewy clearings, from ancient forests and arching castles. He was a waving banner, a bloodied sword, the glow of magic on the surface of a lake. He was resplendent<em> , sing-change-exult </em> coming off him in waves, and every facet of him was pinpointed to <em> rage. </em> </p><p>Virgil’s mouth went dry, because if he’d really pissed Roman off- if he’d really gotten hit, if Princey had cornered him for real and made him regret every provocation- </p><p>He wouldn’t have stopped at a leg. The realization was nauseating. </p><p>“You should listen to him, Creativity,” said Wrath, grinning with rage. “<em>Anxiety </em> says it’s no big deal.”</p><p>“His <em> name </em> is Virgil,” Roman said, and he was in front of him, standing between them; he was a wall and a shield, a bastion against the dark. Virgil couldn’t tear his eyes away. “And he’s one of us now. You have no business touching him, much less doing <em> this!” </em>He waved an arm, and Virgil resisted the urge to duck. “What could possibly have provoked such a savage attack?”</p><p>Wrath rolled his eyes. “So he hasn’t started with you, huh,” he drawled, and the contempt hurt, even after all this time. “The lurking? The <em>needling?</em> The little freak <em> loves </em>cruising for beatings. He never fucking learns until you put him in his place.”</p><p>Virgil flinched, shrinking into himself like being a smaller target meant the words wouldn’t hit home. Roman went deathly still. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, soft and unreadable. </p><p>“You heard me,” Wrath said, taking a step forward- and stopped, choking, when Roman’s sword appeared at his throat. A thin red line trickled down the blade. </p><p>“I don’t care to,” Roman said, and his voice was shaking but his arm was perfectly steady. “I really, really don’t, you know that? You’ve somehow combined every pointless B-grade monologue in the history of gritty nineties comic reboots, and I’m growing dreadfully tired of your drivel. You see, I’d really love to kill you, and if you keep talking it’d make such a wondrous excuse! Why, I can almost <em> feel </em> the audience cheering me on. Can you hear it?” </p><p>Virgil could. For a second the world waxed theatrical, and they were on a stage, lights and audience and all, the only three people in the world being watched by thousands just out of sight. He could feel the wood under his body, could hear the murmuring offstage, could see the cord that brought the curtains down. </p><p>“You wouldn’t,” Wrath whispered, caught like prey in a snare. The stage-dream waned, but Roman kept it around him like an aura, shimmering with make-believe. “You don’t know what it would do to Thomas.”</p><p>“Oh, but I’d love to find out,” Roman said lightly, and that was- Virgil was scared of Wrath, sure, but-</p><p>“I’d rather not turn Thomas into a doormat,” Virgil said, steadying his voice, “actually. If you want my two cents.”</p><p>"I'll have you know that as a prince I'm <em>obscenely </em>rich," Roman said, smile going vicious, and Virgil's heart skipped a beat. Wrath paled. There was a frozen moment where it looked like Roman was about to twitch and send his head rolling to the floor; then he let go, stepping back with a flourish, and Wrath took the opportunity to jerk out of range.</p><p>"Don't think this means you've won," he snarled. "If I see you down here again-"</p><p>Roman started forward, and he broke and ran, fear hitting fever pitch. He disappeared into the dark hallways, and Princey was at Virgil’s side the next instant, too fast for him to flinch away.</p><p>Virgil gave it his best effort anyway. He was a trooper like that. </p><p>“Virgil,” Roman was babbling, hands hovering over his body like he wasn’t sure what would happen if he touched. “Ariadne’s <em> thread</em>, I can’t- can I touch you? I think I might be able to heal you, at least a little-”</p><p>“You can do that?” Virgil asked, because that was <em> not </em> a trait he remembered, and Roman grimaced.</p><p>“In a sense, I suppose? It fluctuates. Not that it ever works on <em> me, </em> but there was one time our dear Padre fell down the stairs and had quite the terrible wound, he was crying rather pitifully, so I had to try- which, well. <em> Can </em> I try? Would you let me?”</p><p>“Knock yourself out,” Virgil managed, and Roman put a warm hand on his leg just at the break, making him suck in a breath. There was- <em> something</em>, that next second, the twisting-joyful feeling of an engrossing daydream, and the pain drew back to low tide. Virgil exhaled in relief. </p><p>“Better?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Virgil couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks.” Shame and guilt ate him alive. If Roman was here because of something with Thomas- if the Light Sides had noticed, if they were mad- “How’d you even find me?”</p><p>“A little snake told me,” Roman said, mouth twisting. </p><p>Virgil stared. “<em>Deceit </em> did?” Why? Janus didn't like him; they weren't even friends anymore, even if Virgil felt nauseous calling them enemies. He would've thought Janus would laugh to hear him provoking Wrath <em>again</em>, now that he'd chosen a new family.</p><p>“I’ll confess I didn’t believe him,” Roman admitted, which, <em>yeah,</em> “but I thought I might at least investigate, and it does seem to have borne fruit." He grimaced at Virgil's banged-up face. "Is there anything else I could try to heal? That massive shiner, perhaps? I might be able to-”</p><p>“I’m fine, don't get all twisted up about it,” Virgil said, trying to stand and gasping at the feeling of pressure on the break.</p><p>Then there was an arm at his back, another at the crook of his knees, and he was swept into the air. </p><p>Virgil yelped, grabbing for Princey’s neck on impulse, and Roman stumbled just enough to set his heart pounding harder. “Is this all right?” Roman asked, like he hadn’t just gone ahead and <em> done it. </em>“You really shouldn’t be walking, and you’re already something of a damsel at the moment. It seemed fitting.”</p><p>At least it wasn’t the fireman carry, even if being toted around like a princess or new bride was emasculating as shit. Virgil was tough, okay. He got into fights and everything.</p><p>“It’s good,” he managed, the realization that this was <em> contact </em> setting in. Princey was touching him. He didn’t even have to, not really, but heroic impulses apparently overrode common sense and the usual disgust and- “Just, y’know, don’t make a habit of it.”</p><p>“Excuse you, I am a <em> prince</em>,” Roman scoffed, and Virgil snickered helplessly, high on touch and abated pain. “This is my primary habit, aside from arranged marriages and questing.”</p><p>“Kind of a weird hobby, but whatever floats your boat,” Virgil said, trying not to melt into the warmth. He had maybe a few minutes before Roman decided he could walk after all or dropped him off alone in his room; he had to absorb every minute of this he could.</p><p>He could replay these moments in his daydreams for weeks, hugging a blanket or taking hot showers and pretending it was Princey’s arms around him, his heartbeat in Virgil’s ears.</p><p>The thought that this would end tightened his chest with preemptive grief. He wanted more, better, for <em> longer </em>, like he had any right to ask for it when Roman had done him a huge favor already. They weren’t even friends yet, if they’d ever be. Virgil had just gotten lucky enough to seem like a damsel at the right moment, let Princey play out the fanciful part of his role. </p><p>He hid his face, turning into Roman’s shoulder, and the air around them shifted from musty to dewy-cold. Virgil shivered.</p><p>“Virgil?” came Princey’s alarmed voice, so close Virgil could feel it vibrate through his chest. “It’s all right. We aren’t in the Dark Side anymore.”</p><p><em> I’m about to let go of you, </em>Virgil translated with nauseous certainty, and his breath hitched close to a sob. “Got it,” he croaked, twisting to get down. His ribs erupted with pain.</p><p>“Oh! Ah, hold on, I’ll let you down-”</p><p>Soft, damp grass. Virgil crumbled onto it, tipped onto the ground with bizarre gentleness, and Roman kneeled beside him. “I actually meant this as more of a shortcut,” he said with an awkward, tentative smile, “but I’ve never actually carried anyone for that long, especially not when they were injured. My apologies if I’ve made anything worse.”</p><p>“You’re fine,” Virgil forced out, staring at the ground. The starlight illuminated each separate blade, glittering off dew like a convention of tiny moons. The realization that Princey would’ve carried him longer if he hadn’t fucked up made tears well up all over again. “Just, uh. Hold on a second,” he whispered, and turned to wipe his eyes. Whatever his face was doing, he didn’t want to know. Probably something that made him look even more pathetic.</p><p>Roman burst out beside him, patience apparently running thin, “What in the Nine Circles of Hell were you <em> doing </em> down there?” Virgil stiffened. “You’ve been acting outright bizarre lately, what with the cereal thieving and all. Has something happened? Did ducking out scramble your brain like an egg?”</p><p>“Do you ever stop talking?” Virgil snapped, guilt eating at him like acid. “It was a dumb idea, okay. I miscalculated. I do that. Math stresses me out.”</p><p>“I remember Thomas’s college cram sessions too, but that’s besides the point,” Roman said, incredulous. His eyes were bright and piercing. “What sort of idea means getting beaten to a pulp by Thomas’s resident gangster wannabe? I thought you were supposed to avoid threats.”</p><p>Virgil flinched. “Yeah,” he rasped, “I know, I-” He sucked in a breath, bracing for he didn’t know what. Laughter, definitely. Getting abandoned in the Imagination, very possibly. A look of disgust or disbelief, Princey saying <em> perhaps I shouldn’t have healed you after all if you enjoy it so much- </em></p><p>Time to bite the bullet. “Sometimes I try to get beat up,” Virgil admitted, trying not to shake. “It’s not, like, a kink thing, I don’t- I mean, I’m not Remus, but it. It’s.” <em> Spit it out already</em>. “It’s better than nothing.”</p><p>A long silence. “You’re really making it sound like a kink thing,” Roman said, and Virgil hissed at him. “You <em> are! </em> I’m sorry if I’m misunderstanding, Christian Frayed-Nerves, but I really don’t-”</p><p>“Better than not being <em> touched </em> , okay?” Virgil snapped, and the humiliation made the tears overflow, made everything a thousand times worse. He glared at the ground, vision blurring, and spat, “I get it. It’s dumb, I just- I can’t <em> not. </em> It’s worse if I don’t get <em> anything.” </em></p><p>Roman made a horrible noise, and Virgil jerked up his head because what if he was hurt, what if Wrath had hurt him after all- but Roman choked out, looking like Virgil had told him he was allergic to show tunes, “You’ve never been <em> touched?” </em></p><p>“You don’t have to rub it in,” Virgil hissed, wishing he could hug his knees. “I know it’s pathetic. I’m Anxiety, I don’t <em> need </em>it, I-”</p><p>“Can I hug you?” Roman blurted, and Virgil stopped being able to think. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>He had to have misheard that. There was no way Princey was offering just like that, it had to be a misunderstanding- or maybe Virgil really had damsel-whammied him, had made Princey see <em> Side in distress! </em>before what he actually was. </p><p>“I’d like to hug you,” Roman repeated thickly. “I understand if you’d rather it come from someone other than me, of course, considering, well, everything.”</p><p>“Really?” Virgil asked raggedly, staring up at him. Roman looked earnest, but any second he’d rethink and realize how ridiculous it was to coddle a negative function of Thomas’s mind. He was leaning toward him, though, coming out of his hunch like a plant catching a hint of light, helpless and horrible. “You don’t have to,” he made himself say, one last save, but Roman was already-</p><p>He was-</p><p>Fabric against his cheek. <em> Warmthcolorcontact, </em>bright spots of touch against his back and firm, lovely pressure, hardly painful at all. Virgil sucked in a breath and it came out as a sob, raw and quiet; Roman didn’t drop him but hugged him closer, humming something Disney-related, and Virgil melted into it. </p><p>“There you are,” Roman said, sounding tender and <em> surprised </em> , like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Virgil tensed- he’d <em> gotten </em> the hug, he didn’t need to stick around, Princey wouldn’t want him to- and the arms around him tightened, drawing out a muffled gasp of pain. “Shit, I’m sorry-”</p><p>“‘S fine,” Virgil said, but it came out as more of a mumble. </p><p>Roman pulled back, thumbs still rubbing circles on Virgil’s arms like he wanted to remind him he was there, like Virgil could ever have forgotten, and said, “It is <em> not </em> fine! I just hugged someone with broken ribs! And I’ll bet you’re bruised all over, too, that seems like just your style, can’t have any less than the absolute <em> worst </em> case scenario- what sort of hero am I that I didn’t even notice <em> that? </em> Let me try to heal again. I’ve got some new ideas, which of course I’m fabulous at creating- I’m sure at least one of them could work-”</p><p>“Princey, seriously, it’s no big deal,” Virgil said, rankling at the comment on his style- what did Roman know, okay, <em> he </em>wouldn’t fit in at a mosh pit- “Not like I haven’t had worse.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have,” Roman snapped, and the sincerity was so thick it hurt. In the moonlight his face was shadowed, but Virgil could <em> feel </em> him there, so close he could curl into him and be held, trusting in fanciful, histrionic Princey to keep his head out of the clouds and guard him. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I <em> swear </em> to you I am.” His eyes were glistening. “I’ve been so <em> cruel </em>to you-”</p><p>“Hey, no, we hashed this all out last episode, if we bring it up again the viewers’ll riot,” Virgil said, and Roman gave a little laugh. “Let’s just- it’s not a problem, okay? You called me a villain, I stole your Froot Loops and systematically crushed all your dreams- we’re pretty much even.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I can forgive the Froot Loops,” Roman said with a sniff. “If the Trix Rabbit has taught me anything, it’s that theft of traditional childhood breakfasts is a terrible crime.”</p><p>“I just wanted them more,” Virgil said, and shivered when Roman ran fingers through his hair. Tears sprang to his eyes. “You- you should have taken them back, if you were so upset.” God, please don’t take <em> this </em>back-</p><p>“Something so artificial and sugary was probably bad for my beauty routine anyway,” Roman sighed, and Virgil felt a cool breeze wash through the clearing. He didn’t shiver, though; he was warm, fuzzy and <em> safe </em> like he couldn’t remember ever being, and Roman was going on about skincare routines and how he took twenty minutes to wash his hair in the shower <em> every time.  </em></p><p>Virgil swallowed hard and risked reaching up a hand, catching Roman’s gesticulating arm and twining their fingers together; Roman halted, color rising in his cheeks.</p><p>“Just so you know,” Virgil said, words coming from some impossible place inside him, some part bewitched from fear, “I think you look fine as is.” And then, wryly, heart in his throat: “Even considering how we have the same face and all.”</p><p>“Blasphemy,” Roman said, staring in something close to wonder. “I’m the loveliest lad at the ball.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face,” Virgil rasped, and leaned forward to put his head on Princey’s shoulder. Roman sighed under his cheek, squeezing his hand tight, and his fingers came up to tease through Virgil’s bangs, sparkling and magical, stealing pain and leaving warmth in its place. </p><p>Virgil closed his eyes, heat flushing through him in a tender, glittering wave, and let himself float.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: broken bones, touch starvation, abuse, bad coping mechanisms, picking fights</p><p>Also, Wrath as the orange Side who is also a total jerk! Just. A <i>huge</i> jerk.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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